


Sandor the Ghost

by desla_be



Series: SanSan Halloween [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crushes, F/M, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, One Shot, Sandor has a really sweet big sister who sticks up for him and gives him girl advice, ghost costume!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27188242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/desla_be/pseuds/desla_be
Summary: Sandor snatches a sheet from the closet to make a homemade ghost costume for Halloween. This is right around the time he starts getting severe dysphoria about his scars and wants to ensure that he can cover them as well as possible with his costume, so a costume that covers his whole face is just a revolutionary idea in his eyes, and free! Him and Sansa meet up at a school Halloween party. A little look into his home life as a child, featuring his older sister.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Series: SanSan Halloween [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1967746
Comments: 16
Kudos: 45





	Sandor the Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> ***Trigger warnings: R-slur, mention of child abuse.

_Two little circles,_ he thought, and dug a sharp pair of scissors into the white cotton. He sat away in the corner of his bedroom, legs crossed on the dusty floorboards with an old sheet in his lap.

_Snip_. Sandor pinched the fabric back with his index finger and thumb and the metal did the rest. _Snip, snip, snip_.

His dad wouldn’t be happy to find out that he was using the kitchen scissors, or that he’d taken a sheet out of the closest, but as long as he put them both back when he was done, he didn’t think there’d be an issue. There would be two holes missing from the sheet when he’d put it back, but Sandor didn’t see any reason why you couldn’t use a sheet with two holes in it. And the holes would be really little, so his dad wouldn’t be mad about that, would he? He didn’t think anyone could fault him for just two little holes in an old sheet, could they?

The first hole revealed itself. A little trimming around the edges, and he thought it looked pretty even and clean.

He pinched the area where the second hole would be and twisted it back, and got out the scissors. _Snip, Snip, Snip._ The second white circle fell onto the floor and he snipped around the edges until he thought it matched the first hole.

Sandor smiled at his work, and then set the scissors down in delight. He got up off the floor and went over to his mirror, making sure to keep his eyes glued to the sheet at all costs. It took a little while to figure out where the holes were as he rotated the sheet, searching and searching until suddenly he found them. He grabbed onto the space beside the two holes he’d cut out and pulled the sheet over his head.

Sandor got real close to his mirror for the next part, adjusting and readjusting and fine-tuning until he could see the glass in front of him.

In the reflection he saw himself with the white sheet flattened over his hair, draped over his shoulders, and cloaking the rest of his body right down to the ankles. He looked into the two holes he’d cut to see his own slate eyes staring back, one of them darker than the other. 

Sandor touched his hand to his face through the sheet, tracing his finger over the tip of his big nose which had made the fabric flare out. He was pleased that his scars weren’t visible at all, except for the blisters beside his eye, but was wondering what he might be able to wear under it to protect himself from the cold fall air when he heard voices in the house, and the floorboards outside his bedroom creaked.

Sandor froze. He perked his ear to listen for whoever was out there, and when the creak got louder he ripped the sheet off of himself and ran to lock his door. Footsteps neared, and for a moment he even thought he could hear breathing. 

Sandor ran across the room and ducked by his nightstand. He sat with a sleeve of crackers resting on the table above him, and clutched the white sheet to his chest tightly, the scissors in one of his hands.

“What’s he doing in there?” came a voice from the hall.

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?” came another, sneering.

“He’s probably just playing,” a third voice said, and a chill crept up Sandor’s spine at the sound of it. “Leave him be.”

“He’s too old to be playing, isn’t he?”

“What sort of kid plays by himself?”

“You mean he’s playing _with_ himself,” the first voice replied, snickering, and the second joined.

“Stop that,” the third voice interjected, disapproving.

Sandor drew the scratchy-soft sheet up above his nose and hugged his knees.

“Well, have you seen his room lately? I’ve never seen a kid’s room so clean. It’s not fucking normal. He’s some sort of spazz, I’ve been saying that for years.” 

“He’s not normal, and that room is _not_ clean. Have you seen all the food he’s got in there? Keeps it in his drawers, at his desk— It’s like he thinks it’s going out of style.” Sandor peered at the crackers on his nightstand. He reached up the wood passively and pulled the sleeve off of the surface, tucking it beneath the bed. The voice waned farther and farther away with each word until Sandor heard a door close.

“I’m just saying,” said the first voice, “he spends a lot of time in there for a kid who doesn’t have any toys or any friends.”

“Of course he has friends. Stop talking about him like that, he’s our fucking little brother and you know he likes to eavesdrop.”

"Are you serious? The only ‘friends’ I’ve ever seen him with come from the bottom of the cereal box."

Sandor heard something crash unexpectedly against the table and he flinched at the sound.

"Have you considered that maybe he spends so much time alone in his room because you say shit like that about him? I sure as hell wouldn't come out of my room if I were him and had you and your nasty comments to look forward to. The difference for him is that he has nowhere to go."

“He stays in there because he’s fucking retarded. He shouldn’t even be here.”

Sandor sighed into his knees, breathless and numb. He couldn’t hear anyone anymore, and he wasn’t sure if they’d gone into a different room or if they’d just stopped talking. He clutched the scratchy soft white sheet in his hands and held it tightly enough in hopes of convincing himself not to cry.

He would _not_ cry, he told himself. He would _not_ cry.

There was a knock at his door, and the suddenness of it, the interruption of his pained concentration made Sandor jump against the dark floorboards. His head knocked against the edge of the nightstand and he yelped into his knees, forcing himself to be quiet. 

He helped himself up off the floor gently, silently, and set the sheet down on his bed. His eyes were wide as he crept closer to his bedroom door holding the scissors so tightly and defensively that his knuckles turned white.

“Sandor?” said the gentle voice that had come to his defense moments earlier. “Open up.”

Sandor flicked the lock counterclockwise and turned the brassy knob. The door pushed open, the hinges squeaked, he shivered.

A figure half a foot taller than he was emerged into the room, a swarm of fine black hair around her neck and dark lipstick making her mouth pop. “Mind if I hang out in here for a little?” his big sister Mara said jovially, stepping in and obviously faking a smile, until she looked down and saw the tears that had defiantly seeped from Sandor’s eyes. “Oh! What’s wr— Sandor,” she tilted her head at the pair of scissors he gripped, “were you listening to us talk again?”

He let out a shaky breath and rubbed his puffy eyes exhaustedly. “You were only right outside,” he said. “I didn’t really have a choice.”

She placed her arms around him and put her face against his shoulder. “I’m really sorry that you heard that. Obviously none of it was true.” She pulled away. 

Sandor shrugged, running his fingers over the rubber grip on the scissors.

“How about,” she scratched her head, “I get my laptop and we can watch a movie?”

He nodded, wishing he could smile back at her but not being able to, because it would’ve been ingenuine.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, fleeing the room.

Sandor let out a very long breath when she was gone and walked to set his scissors in the top drawer of his nightstand.

She was back just as quickly as she’d said she’d be with a thin laptop under her arm and a big bag of chips. They pulled the blanket from Sandor’s bed and laid on their bellies on the floor, side by side, with her laptop and the bag of chips in front of him. He did not think it was a coincidence when she put on his favorite Halloween movie; a ridiculous tactic for making him feel better, but Sandor couldn’t deny that it served as a good distraction. 

“So,” she grabbed a chip, “will you be seeing Sansa at the Halloween party this weekend?”

He could already feel himself going red, but he was thankful that she’d given him enough time to calm down before bringing _her_ up. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. 

“Liar,” she laughed. “You wouldn’t be blushing like that unless you knew you were going to see her.”

“How would I know whether or not she’s going? We’re not friends.”

“Oh Sandor, she probably likes you as much as you like her.”

“She doesn’t like me at _all_ ,” he argued. 

Mara frowned at him, “Why would you say that? There are plenty of things to like about you, and I’m sure Sansa sees them.”

“I don’t think so.”

She put her hand on his shoulder, munching on a chip. “You’re brave, Sandor, and strong, and honest. She’ll know that if she’s spent any time with you at all.”

Sandor grabbed himself a chip from the bag, crackers from the sleeve hidden in his pocket. He bit into the chip slowly, his eyes lifting to her as he thought about what Sansa must’ve thought of him. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes. And if she doesn’t, she’s not worth it anyway.”

Sandor nodded, and leaned forward to put his head into his hands in front of her laptop screen. He really, _really_ wanted her to be worth it— to like him. More than anything else, that’s what he wanted. 

Mara leaned in and pecked him on the side of the head. “I love you, Sandor,” she said brightly, and waited only a few moments before inquiring about Sansa again. What Sansa would be wearing (as if he was supposed to know), what her favorite type of candy was, if she liked spiders or not. She had more questions about Sansa than even he had come up with, and he thought about Sansa all the time. Between Mara’s questions Sandor thought about what it would be like to get the chance to ask her all of these questions. Before he could dwell on it too long, she’d ask another question. And another, and another. Every five minutes for the rest of the movie.

*****

“Sandor? Is that you?” a little voice asked him, accompanied by a gentle finger-poke into his back.

Sandor spun around. It was Sansa, as he already knew it would be— recognising her voice immediately. His favorite voice. Before, Mara’s had been his favorite, but now she had been bumped down to second. But sometimes when Mara would sing to him, her voice would bump back up to first place— it was a constant joust for first place. 

Sansa had a long skirt with green and blue and silver scales on her legs, and a big poof at her feet signified her mermaid tail. A pink sweatshirt hung over the green tail loosely. Her red hair was splayed out everywhere.

“Yeah,” he swallowed, wiping his sweaty hands off on the inside of the sheet.

“I could tell by your shoes.” She smiled gently and pointed. “I really like your costume, by the way.”

“Thanks,” said Sandor, glad she couldn’t see his face because he could feel himself going bright red. A surge of confidence passed through his chest. “I made it myself.”

“Oh, that’s really cool! I was wondering, do you want to... sit and trade candy with me?”

“Uh huh,” he nodded quickly so as not to miss the window of her offer, wondering how well she could see his reaction under the white sheet that covered his head.

Obviously she could see it well enough. Sansa smiled at his acceptance, bigger and brighter this time.

They went to go sit on the floor, next to a big patch of fake spider webbing with black plastic spiders sitting on top of it. Jack O'Lanterns with battery-operated tea light candles inside littered the room, and Sandor was pretty sure that Monster Mash was playing on loop. The room was dim enough to hide the amateur special effects makeup on his fellow classmates’ faces but not so dark that he couldn’t identify the labels on the candies in his trick-or-treat bag.

Sansa upturned her bag of candies, and Sandor did the same, and they spread the chocolates out and compared.

“You can have whatever you want,” he told her, gesturing to his pile.

“What do you like?” she asked. “My favorite is Crunch.”

His heart raced, thinking about the conversation with Mara about her favorite candy. He had forgotten to ask! Sandor started pulling the little blue Crunch bars from his assortment and compiling them in his sheet-covered lap. “I’ll take anything,” he said, “I’m a garbage disposal.”

Sansa giggled at his joke, and his stomach filled with butterflies at the sound. She began grabbing him a sampling from her collection. After a moment, she looked up at him and at the hoard of Crunch candies in his lap, and then at his pile, and made the connection. 

“Oh, you don’t have to give me all of them. Keep some for yourself.”

“It’s okay,” Sandor said, pushing the assemblage from his lap into her pile, “I have other candy.” He’d given her every single Crunch bar. 

“Very well,” Sansa said, and in return presented him with a diverse heap of chocolates just as plentiful as the heap he’d given her.

Sandor unwrapped a Snickers and struggled to push it through one of his sheet’s eyeholes. He managed, eventually, guiding the candy into his mouth gracelessly and munching on the sticky caramel and the crunchy peanuts.

Sansa giggled at him as she unwrapped a Crunch bar and bit off the end.

“I guess I should’ve cut myself a mouth hole,” he said, although he actually didn’t think he would do that if he could go back in time and redo his sheet costume. A mouth hole would’ve been weird; none of the sheet ghosts he’d ever seen had mouth holes. 

“I guess you should’ve.” She reached over and touched his hand. “Thanks for sharing with me. Maybe we can hang out again and eat our candy together.”

“Yeah,” Sandor said, smiling behind his white sheet because of her gratitude, or because she was touching his hand, or because she wanted to hang out with him and eat candy with him. All of those reasons— all of those reasons were why. His chest was being sort of weird, he noticed. It was fear, he thought— but not the sort of fear that was reserved for hiding in his bedroom in front of the nightstand. This was a much different fear than that. This was like watching pirated horror movies with Mara, both of their hands clasped together when the slasher entered the house, and unclasping in relief when the police came just in the nick of time. 

“Uh huh. Sure,” he said, thinking about how happy he was to tell Mara about all of this when he got home later. When she came into his room for the goodnight hug. 

“Okay,” Sansa took her hand back to reach for another miniature candy bar. “My mom will call your dad.”

“She can call my sister,” he mended quickly, wondering what Mara would say to Sansa’s mom. She would brag about having told him so, he knew, but he wasn’t upset to have been wrong this time. “I’ll give you her number before we leave.”

Sansa smiled through her bites of chocolate, and after she’d stuffed the empty wrapper to the bottom of her trick-or-treat bag, she slipped her hand back into his and he smiled back at her, even though she couldn’t see him through the old white sheet.

**Author's Note:**

> Sandor’s older sister has my heartttt <3
> 
> Thank you for reading, hope you liked this & would appreciate your comments :)


End file.
